1st after Christmas. Work nights again. Quite uneventful really and I knicked off home at 10.30 quite unnoticed by the half-doped journalists who remain. Feel miserable sat on the bus and realise only too well that Christmas is over for yet another year.
See the end of a Humphrey Bogart film and retire to bed. A relief that I do not have to work again until next year ... Jan 2, to be exact.
Oh, I've forgotten to mention that I have been looking after the Walton's keys next door while they went off to see relatives in Colchester. OK, what's startling about that? Well, last night they were burgled, by burglars no less! Mum is on the verge of a breakdown from the trauma and excitement of it all.
Uncle Peter arrived just before lunch.
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The journal of a Yorkshire lad from the age of 17 in 1973 through several decades .... Transcribing from handwritten volume to blog may take some time ...
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Saturday September 14, 1985
Moorhouse Inn New Moon It was an early rise because of our darling son and heir, who had no qualms about getting his drunken Papa out of be...
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Moorhouse Inn 2nd Sunday in Lent with dear Phyllis. Drizzle. Up for a full-English. Samuel is much better behaved without the influence of ...
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Moorhouse Inn 3rd Sunday in Lent Andrew: licentiousness? A 'Knobbly Knees' contest here. My God, the Diet Pils has brought new life...
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